On the outside
by MorgauseNokami
Summary: Juunanagou's musings about his night with Pan. J-P! Sequel to Substitute for love!! Since all those people (8) want it, I figured I might just as well write it... ofcourse there's gonna be a sequel to this too.... PG for some minor sex...


I scowled as I walked down the street, probably scaring passengers

**_On the outside_**

I scowl as I walk down the street, probably disturbing or even scaring passengers. I can't care less. At the moment, I am not paying attention to anything then the thoughts rushing to my head. Outside I look fairly calm, but inside I am blazing, burning, twisting.

I can't think of anything else than her.

Well, and last night, that is. But that is pretty much the same thing, isn't it?

_ _

_Let me be your substitute for love._

What kind of pick up line is _that_?!! Talking about _lame_.

I don't wanna be her substitute for love.

I don't wanna be a substitute.

I just wanna be her love.

Oh god, what am I thinking? I'm a cyborg, for god's sake! I'm supposed to be coldharted.Cruel.

I'm _not_ supposed to have any feelings!

I don't know since when I've _had_ feelings. I just know there used to be a time I didn't. And I liked it that way.

But then came Cell and he showed me fear, and there and then it begun.

It's all his fault.

Not that blaming him is gonna help me. I'm being childish, I know. But I am really freaking out by now. How the hell can I be acting, thinking, _feeling_ so differently from my normal self?

She thinks the first time we met is back then, in the rain.

In a way it is the first time we have met. I have seen her before though, many times.

I used to watch her when she was fighting, training, even more fanatically than those boys, who were turning into men.

Already. 

I didn't like to watch _them_. At that age they were too much like me. But they would change again; they will always change, keep on changing. 

I will never.

She was so different from the other little girls I'd ever seen. Even the daughter of my sister didn't have that spirit. She had that spirit of hers back then and she still has it, it shows in the sparkle in her dark eyes.

There it was; again.

Just a flash of dark hair. 

A moment I could smell that mixture of woodbine and musk again, a scent that seems to be indelibly printed on my mind.

The feeling of her warm body close.

Why the hell do I keep on having flashbacks?

She throws her head back, her eyes closed, an almost painful look on her face, her mouth opened in a cry. 

I can't get enough of her scent, her warmth, the way she fits perfectly with my body.

Biting my lip to stop myself from moaning, I close my eyes too, getting lost in everything overflowing me. _Feelings_ overflowing me. 

I don't think I've ever felt this way.

I continued to watch her when she grew up. She reminded me of myself, the part of me I had forgotten about. 

But on the other hand she was so different from me. This girl seemed to live by her emotions. Everything she did was because of some emotion. She didn't seem to make deliberate, logical decisions, based on careful considerations, like I did. Do. She felt and acted without much thinking.

I saw her falling in love with him. Even then I didn't feel jealousy. I was just slightly uncomfortable, but I did not know why.

He was almost twice her age then. How could he ever feel about her the way she felt about him?

But I was told girls that age often have crushes on persons unattainable, and I didn't think it would last very long.

Strangely enough, it did.

That day when we talked, what she considers as our first meeting, she had fallen in love with him.

When I met her three years later she still loved him.

After that first meeting I had stopped watching her. I don't know why – it must have something to do with _feelings_ again. 

When I saw her standing last night, I was oddly hit by the sight.

She had changed so much. From a slightly too small, not yet full grown child to a woman.

She wore an outfit that didn't seem to ... _fit_ her, figuratively said, although it certainly looked good on her.

Her dark hair shimmered in the light of the full moon, but her eyes seemed darker than ever.

I had to go talk to her.

Somehow we ended up kissing eachother. I think I had aimed for that all along, but I can't be sure. I am too confused.

And then she said it. 

She was in love with someone else.

Ofcourse she was. I knew she was. I could see it in her eyes.

But I didn't want to give up this night with her.

And I talked to her, and she gave in. I said everything that I could think of, everything that might convince her.

And something I said did convince her, and she stayed.

She kisses me, warmly, deeply. Her hands travel over my body as mine over hers. My jacket lies under us. I don't know when that happened.

Frankly, I don't care.

A drop of sweat runs down her face. I catch it with my fingertip. 

I don't sweat, no matter what effort. I don't need to. 

Somehow this fact saddens me deeply.

She draws me out of my musings, and I let it go.

I think I do. But it's still there, somewhere in the back of my mind.

When did I come here? 

I look at the house. She lives there. She eats there, sleeps there, dreams there.

But all her dreams are about _him_. 

All of a sudden I do feel jealousy. In fact, I am thinking about blasting towards that huge dome and eliminating him.

I don't, ofcourse.

Not only is his daddy stronger than me and thus dangerous, but also I don't want to hurt her.

Killing the man – man; something I will never be – will certainly not please her.

If I were human, I would fight for her, I would do more than just watching. But I am not.

She will age, and die.

I won't. 

I won't be able to see her live and die without me. I want to be part of it. But no matter what I feel, I will always be on the outside.

And that is _not_ the way I want to love.

Unfortunately I don't seem to have a say in it.


End file.
